QUEST COMPLETED!

  Kill as many jester rats as you can and turn in their crowns to Guard Tower 17

  Reward:

  100x copper obols

  100 experience

  New Ability: Auto-loot

  New Ability!

  Auto-loot

  Passive (P)

  This passive ability automatically harvests any monster kill or container, putting relevant and/or expensive loot automatically into your storage space. Humanoids killed by your hands must be looted manually.

  Greg felt like his legs might fold beneath him as he reached the apartment door. It was impossible to see into the blacked-out windows, so he had no idea if Maeve had gone to bed or not. It must have been close to four or five in the morning, so instead of knocking like he’d originally intended, he grabbed the handle and tried it.

  The door opened to light within the main room. Maeve had not gone to bed. Maeve had, however, taken apart everything in the house. When she sprang to her feet and looked over at him, the first thing he saw were the bags under her eyes, and a sudden relief hit her face. Then, the blue runes tattooed on either side of her head flared.

  “Where the hell have you been?! Brannoc said you were just hunting jester rats! Did you get lost?!” she snapped at him, climbing up onto the arm of the couch to free herself from the numerous appliance and engine parts that littered the floor, table, and cushions around her.

  “No, well…for a second… but that’s not why I’m so late.” Greg glanced around the room, and a little smile crossed his lips. “You didn’t have to wait up for me, you know?”

  “I didn’t have to…” Her eyes went wide and she jumped down to the floor. Thick wool socks made the exaggerated stomping all but silent and utterly ruined the moment. “You’re basically a little amnesia baby that I’ve taken under my wing! And I don’t need to wait up for you!?”

  “Amnesia baby?” Greg furrowed his brow, trying to process if that was some kind of insult, before it hit him. Of course she thought he’d lost his memories. What was the alternative? That some magic man was ripped through the cosmos and dumped into a storm drain by all-powerful beings?

  “What happened?!” She wheeled back and punched him in the chest. Hard.

  Greg folded over and groaned, hands grasping at his sternum. Her strength had to be off the charts. He’d not scanned her yet. Brannoc had said it gave him a chill, so there was some kind of notice that he was doing something. It felt like a breach of privacy anyway.

  “Don’t be a wimp.” She smacked the side of his head and turned to start cleaning up the mess she’d left…everywhere. “Help me clean this up, and talk.”

  He really just wanted to go to bed, but Maeve had stayed up all this time waiting on him. The least he could give was an explanation. Greg helped her pick up the parts while regaling her with the tale. When he got to the adventurers, she stopped, eyes wide.

  Maeve shot across the room, jumping to grab him by the collar and look into his eyes. “You met Doran Hightide?” Her face had gone deep, deep red.

  “Yeah, he threw me on his back and climbed a building to get me away from the frost kissed.”

  Maeve looked like she might pass out at any moment. “Mother Below.” She swayed slightly on her feet before focusing again. “You have to introduce me. He’s the best adventurer in Rhobair, and he just casually threw you over his back…” She made a whining sound and let go of him to spin in a circle and collapse onto the couch.

  “Are you alright?” Greg asked leaning over the couch to look down at her. He’d heard of girls fawning over crushes like this, but he’d never actually seen it.

  “I hate you…” she whispered.

  ###

  Brannoc hadn’t said anything for an uncomfortably long time. Greg had just explained what had happened the night before with the frost kissed and the group of adventurers that saved him from what was likely inevitable doom. His pipe was held tight between his teeth, and he could hear the occasional flick of his tongue on the mouthpiece.

  “As long as you’re pondering things, I have a couple other questions.” Greg rubbed the back of his neck. When the old elf nodded, he continued. “Is it normal for them to congregate like that?”

  “No.” Brannoc’s eyes narrowed. “Frost kissed form nests. Usually no more than five of them. Anymore together is rare. Someone’s been flooding the streets with frost. Has been for months.”

  “And the authorities aren’t doing anything about it?” Greg asked.

  “Doing plenty. Burning nests, raiding alchemy labs. For every one they shut down, two more pop up.” Brannoc blew a smoke circle, then destroyed it by blowing two more in quick succession. “Whoever is running the operation has deep pockets and protection.”

  “Any idea who?”

  “If I did, they’d be dead.” Brannoc said flatly.

  Greg pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “Next question requires a qualifier first. Maeve said that normal people can’t see the frost kissed, is that right?”

  Brannoc nodded again. “Don’t ask me how or why. There are entire organizations run by the head honchos themselves that can’t find an answer.”

  “I just assume it’s magic bullshit.” Greg shrugged. “That’s not my question. Do all Gifted have the eyes.” He gestured to his face with thumb and forefinger.

  “Some variation of them, yes.”

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “So, it stands to reason that if someone didn’t have the eyes, they would not be Gifted, and therefore could not see the frost kissed?” Greg’s eyebrows rose.

  “Sure?” Brannoc’s brows furrowed. “What are you getting at here, son?”

  “Can anyone else see the frost kissed?”

  “I’m not a walking bestiary, son.” Brannoc took a deep drag from the pipe and spoke again, smoke bellowing out with each word. “Stop dancing around the question you wanna ask and spit the damn thing out.”

  It felt strange. Like asking outright would be sharing a secret he didn’t even know he was privy to. “There was a woman with the adventurers that didn’t have the eyes. They weren’t normal eyes, but they weren’t gifted either.”

  “Could be a lot of explanations.” Brannoc said, shaking his head. “Certain abilities can temporarily change physical characteristics. Artifacts. Or maybe you just didn’t see her properly. It was a rough night for you.”

  He pursed his lips and looked down. “Yeah, I guess so. Call it part of that etiquette lesson you said you’d give me.” There was something off about that Saraphae woman. His brain parasite did not react well to her, but whatever it was, Brannoc either didn’t know or wasn’t telling him.

  “Don’t remember agreeing to that.” Brannoc sighed and pulled the jobs he still had in his shirt pocket. “Somebody should, though. Laurent was less than pleased you insulted his little piss ant kid.”

  “You didn’t tell me why this Lawrence guy is so important.” Greg sagged back on the couch.

  “Laurent.” Brannoc corrected him. “Laurent Rillon is an antiquities dealer. Other than the Thirteen, probably the richest man in Rhobair. Maybe all Ashoria. He trades in Dragonheart artifacts, and you told his adult son his nuts hadn’t dropped.”

  “I pissed off the magic item man?” Greg shot up, sadness washing over him. “Did you fix it? I really want magic items.”

  “You don’t even know how to use your own abilities yet.” Brannoc grimaced at him. “Smoothed things over, but keep your mouth shut next time you’re around him.”

  Greg let out a sigh of relief and collapsed back into the corner of the couch. Silence took over between the two of them again. Greg pulled up his character sheet to look it over. For a moment last night he’d regretted dumping all those points into dexterity, but if he hadn’t, he would certainly have been caught.

  He was curious to see what happened when his abilities leveled. Both his strike skills were close, but he assumed those would just do more damage. Hopefully, it didn’t increase the resonance gain. He still wasn’t sure how to work around those, but maybe when he picked his class at level three there would be some kind of answer to that.

  “Don’t you have drills you’re supposed to be doing?” Brannoc drew a lazy gaze on him.

  “Oh, yeah.” Greg got up and nodded. “I’ll be in the back.”

  ###

  Clover’s hammer came down with might that her lithe form didn’t seem like it should be able to create. Greg barely dodged. Having tasted the business end of the blunt object more than once, he was getting the hang of slipping it.

  “Well done!” She jerked it up off the ground and slammed the opposite end into his face, blood spurting from his nose. “Too slow on the backswing. You think a legemar is going to take it easy on you?”

  Greg wheeled backward on impact and dropped his sword to cover his nose. “I don’t know what that is.” He winced as the blood pouring from his nose suddenly stopped and forced itself back into his nostrils. “No, no, just let it…arghh!” Greg’s face scrunched up as his broken nose reset itself.

  Brannoc hadn’t even looked up from the book he was reading, just lifted a hand, two fingers pinched together in his direction and rubbed them together. “You’re relying on memorizing her patterns.” He still didn’t look up. “Do you think a monster is going to fight you the same way she is?”

  “No…” Greg whined as he rubbed his nose, the taste of blood still lingered in his mouth.

  “No.” Brannoc glanced up at him. “She’s faster, stronger, and more experienced than you. No one expects you to win. Not yet. Only learn.” He flicked his fingers at them and looked back down at his book. “Continue.”

  Weeks passed like this. Brannoc pitting him against Clover, and then Ricard, and then Clover and Ricard. Occasionally, Maeve would even show up and fire a bolt into his ass. Brannoc was always there to heal him back up, but it started to feel less like training and more like he was a punching bag. Until things started to turn.

  Dear James,

  It’s been seven weeks. I know I’ve not been keeping up with this like I thought I would, but I don’t think I’m ever leaving this place…so I guess it doesn’t matter.

  I wanted you to know I made some friends. They’re teaching me how to hunt monsters. I still haven’t killed any since the last time I wrote you, just the frost kissed and these things called brinelurkers. Creepy catfish frog things. Real gross. I think I’m getting better, though. I was pretty useless at first. Constantly getting smashed over the head, or set on fire. It’s different now, though.

  As weird as it sounds, I think I’m starting to enjoy it here. Maeve and I have become really close friends. I still haven’t told her that I’m from another world, but I think I will soon. You would really like her. She’s like a jacked, caffeinated, female version of you. She’s in the other room right now tinkering with something.

  What else? Oh, I haven’t told you about my biggest upgrade. If you can call it that. My life is a video game now. I have a full on HUD. It doesn’t show my health or anything, but its got little boxes for an inventory and these bars for volatility and resonance. It’s all really technical, and you’d be able to master it in no time, but I’m still trying to apply it.

  I think I’m starting to get used to it here. Which scares me. I had a minor panic attack yesterday because I’m starting to forget things. Like what my apartment smelled like, or the taste of tacos. I don’t want to forget. I miss you. I love you.

  It’s getting late, I’m going to hit the sack.

  Your disaster of a brother,

  Greg

  ###

  “Again,” Brannoc commanded.

  Greg ducked a fist sized rock his teacher threw in his direction and brought his sword up against the training dummy, pouring three radiant strikes onto it.

  “What’s your volatility?”

  Greg glanced at the meter, but didn’t answer. Just in the last few minutes, he’d gone up from forty percent to sixty.

  “Now consider a proper fight. Ten strikes? Twenty? How long until you’re at critical levels?”

  “Not long.” He answered between deep breaths.

  Brannoc nodded and stomped on the ground, another four fist-sized rocks flying up and landing in his palm. “What do you do?”

  “End fights faster?” Greg shrugged. “Use abilities only when necessary. Find safe ground to recover.”

  “Good.” Brannoc hucked another rock at him and hit him square in the face. “Fifty strikes. No abilities. Keep your feet moving.”

  After several hours of ripping apart a training dummy, Brannoc relented and allowed him a break. He collapsed on the back deck, a message popping up immediately to let him know that his volatility would not be decreasing passively with rest. Brannoc healed up the cuts and bruises his barrage of rocks had caused and sat down in a chair near him.

  “You’re doing well.”

  Greg closed his eyes and laughed silently.

  “What?” Brannoc asked. “It was a compliment.”

  “No, I know,” Greg said, taking a deep breath and bracing his arms on the ground behind him to hold himself up. “You’ve just been keeping me later than Clover and Ricard. Figured I was doing something wrong. .”

  “Keeping you after they leave so we can work on your abilities without them getting privy to the fact you’ve got gauges in your head warning you when you’re about to push too far.” Brannoc clarified. “Once I’m confident you’ve got the hang of it, you can leave when they do if my company isn’t up to your standard.” He smirked at him.

  “That’s not what I’m saying, stubborn ass.” Greg rolled his eyes. “What are you looking for?”

  “Stop leaning on the radiant strike so much. If you cycle between them, you won’t need to worry about purging your resonance so much. I can see it leaking off of you.”

  Greg grimaced. “It feels safer. The demonic resonance feels…wrong.”

  “It’s a part of you now,” Brannoc said, sticking his pipe between his teeth. “Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

  “What if…”

  “What if you need it and you’re not ready to use it properly? You’ll die.” He lit his pipe. “Balancing the two sides isn’t for your comfort, its to keep you alive.”